


Anyway, Here's Wonderwall

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christa couldn't have possibly picked a worse day to invite Ymir back to her dorm room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anyway, Here's Wonderwall

Ymir kind of sucked at making important decisions. She’d be the first person to admit it, too - nobody judged her harder than she judged herself. And over the course of the past twenty-four hours, give or take a few minutes, she had a lot to judge herself for.

Yesterday, for instance, she’d woken up at two o’clock in the afternoon, realized, to her own horror, that she’d slept through two lectures, and then promptly climbed back into bed. She’d woken up again at seven and shuffled to the crowded, messy fridge in her dorm. She’d stared at its contents for, like, two minutes solid before whipping out her cell phone and calling Domino’s. The last of her student loan money paid for two extra-large pepperoni pizzas - which she ate all of, in one sitting, before settling down in front of her laptop to write a paper. Even she couldn’t have told you how she wound up on PornHub fifteen minutes later, idly skimming the Female Friendly™ tag with her hand shoved down her pants.

Yes, Ymir could admit to herself, she was a human trainwreck. It was no small miracle that she’d written the goddamn paper, though, and an even bigger miracle that she was dragging herself out of her dorm in sub-zero temperatures to trek across campus and deliver it to her prof at the top of her 8:30 AM class.

So what if she was still wearing her pajamas, and her hair was greasy as shit under her rapidly unraveling toque? So what if that fucking stubborn zit protruding from the end of her nose wouldn’t go away? It was a two-hundred-level anthropology course, not a beauty pageant.

Ymir leaned on the door of the classroom, tilting into it as it swung open. She realized, with wet indifference, that her nose had been running for most of the walk over, and there was a thin line of snot snaking its way towards her upper lip. She deposited her paper on the growing stack at the front of the classroom, then slipped off her gloves and reached up to swipe at her…

“Hey, Ymir! How’s it going?”

Fuck. She knew that voice. She’d had a big, fat crush on that voice since freshman year.

Ymir froze, whirling around, snorting in a desperate attempt to somehow re-inhale the snot. Real classy, she thought to herself. Way to go. Motherfucking pick-up artist of the year.

In the front row, Christa let out a light, airy laugh, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. Not a strand out of place, of course. Ymir didn’t know anyone else who came to 8:30 classes looking like they’d just stepped out of a J. Crew catalogue, but here was Christa, resplendent in pink argyle, cradling a Starbucks latte between perfectly manicured hands.

“Uh…” Ymir paused, cleared her throat, and shoved her hands into the pockets of the hoodie she’d slept in. “Hey. Things are… uh, good, I guess.”

Christa’s face softened into a sympathetic smile. “You look tired,” she cooed.

No fucking shit, Sherlock. Ymir straightened up, leveling her eyes at Christa. “Yeah, I, like, didn’t sleep at all last night. I was up, uh, working on my paper.”

“Oh no.” Christa leaned forward, lifting her latte high in the air. “Would you like a sip? It’s hazelnut.”

“I’m allergic,” Ymir said, her heart skipping in her chest, “but thanks.”

The professor walked in, and Ymir nodded briskly at Christa before booking it to the back of the lecture hall. She’d been planning on sleeping through this lecture, but she felt wide awake now, probably as a result of Christa’s relentless, aggressive cheerfulness. God, she loved that girl. She’d never spoken more than a few words to her at a time, of course - crippling social anxiety will do that to a person - but she admired her from afar, even venturing out to the odd frat party or Model UN meeting if she got wind that Christa was going to be there.

Christa had this college thing on lock. She was everything Ymir wasn’t, everything she wanted to be: outgoing, popular, adored by her professors, and involved in, like, seventeen clubs. For the most part, Ymir had been content to pull decent grades and let out some steam at field hockey practice a couple of times a week. But then she’d hear about how Christa had, like, won a grant for saving bald eagles over summer vacation, or some shit, and her shaky confidence would evaporate. It didn’t help that she was absolutely, certifiably, head-over-heels in love with her, and had been since orientation week in freshman year. It really didn’t help that every time she came close to getting over her dumbass crush, Christa would pull some shit like smiling at her and fucking offering her a latte.

Grunting, Ymir decided that she was feeling a little tired, after all. Pulling her hood over her face, she leaned against the back wall of the classroom and screwed her eyes shut, vowing not to let Christa infiltrate her dreams.

* * *

She woke up to a soft touch on her shoulder. “Ymir? Ymir?”

That voice again. Shit, second time today. Ymir jolted awake, blinking dark water out of her eyes, and looked up to see Christa smiling at her, her hair white under the fluorescent light.

Ymir swallowed, reaching up to rub at her eyes with a closed fist. “Jesus.”

Christa laughed. “You really were tired.”

Christa smiled, then slid into the empty chair next to Ymir. Casting a quick glance over the lecture hall, Ymir realized the entire room was deserted. Shit.

“How long was I asleep for?”

“Not too long,” Christa answered. “Class just got out a couple of minutes ago. I thought I’d pop up. Be your alarm clock, you know.”

“Well, uh… thanks,” Ymir mumbled. “I should probably get home and… and sleep, I guess.”

“How far’s your dorm?”

“It’s… I’m in Trost,” she answered. Christa grimaced.

“Yikes. Long walk.”

Ymir laughed. “Yeah. I’m, uh, not really looking forward to walking back in this weather.”

“I live in Rose,” Christa said, her voice flying up on the last syllable, and Ymir’s eyes widened. Was she…? No, she couldn’t possibly… “Do you want to come over and chill for a while?”

“Wait…” Ymir paused, clearing her throat. “Like… now?”

“I was hoping we could study for the Russian lit midterm, maybe? It’s just that… well, you’re the only one in the class who’s fluent in Russian, and…”

“No, yeah, totally.” Play it cool, Ymir. You are wearing your pajamas. This is not a date. “Yeah, I can, um, help you out. Anything you need.

“Great!” Christa smiled, practically bouncing out of her seat. “Come on, let’s go!”

* * *

Surreal. Absolutely fucking surreal. Ymir kept her hands in her pockets, glancing around Christa’s single, taking in the soft pastels of her curtains, the little flowerpots speckling every available surface, the collection of stuffed kittens clustered on her pink bedspread. The whole room was immaculate, just spotless, a far, far cry from Ymir’s own wasteland of dirty laundry and pizza boxes. She watched as Christa slipped off her trenchcoat, neatly hanging it on the back of her door.

“I’m just going to get changed,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder. “You can have a seat. I’ll be out in a second."

“Uh… sure.” Ymir took a few steps back, until her knees hit the edge of Christa’s mattress, and then she sank down, clearing away a few kittens to perch awkwardly on the bed. She lifted her eyes, watching Christa retreat into the adjacent bathroom and close the door.

She waited. Her hands rested in her lap, and she idly picked at the skin of her cuticles. She was nervous, for some reason; nervous just being in this room, knowing that Christa was on the other side of the door, knowing that…

There was a soft, small creak. Ymir froze. She looked up to see the door of the bathroom tilting open, entirely of its own volition. Shit. Oh, shit. The inside of the bathroom came into view, and she saw Christa standing there, lifting her shirt up and over her head. Blonde hair cascaded down her back to the clasp of her bra, which was such a light pink it was almost invisible against her skin. Ymir’s fingers clenched the edge of the mattress, and she contemplated closing her eyes, standing up, sprinting for the door. She could feel sweat forming on her forehead, and in her palms, could feel queasiness building up in her stomach.

Christa suddenly bent over, pulling her jeans down, and the delicate pink lace of her panties came into view. Ymir wanted to leap to her feet, run for the door, sprint down the hallway and out into the January air. She wanted to, hand to fucking God. But when she moved forward, she found herself frozen to the spot. She inhaled sharply, and clenched her eyes closed.

“Oh, my God,” Christa’s voice called from the bathroom. Ymir didn’t open her eyes. She heard the door creak open a little further, heard soft footsteps padding toward her. Run, she thought; get the fuck up and get the fuck out of here before she slaps you in the face for being such a gross, disgusting…

“Ymir,” Christa said, insistently. Swallowing, hard, Ymir opened one eye, hazarding a cautious squint. Christa stood in front of her, less than a foot away, both hands on her hips. She leaned forward, running a cold hand over Ymir’s, and then lifted it from the wrist.

“Ymir,” she repeated. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Slowly, carefully, she dragged Ymir’s hand forward, and Ymir sat there, stupefied, both eyes open now.

“I invite you over,” she said, her voice high, fluttery. “I make up some lame excuse about studying. I kick the door open and do… do a striptease, practically…”

She paused, and held Ymir’s hand gently against the space between her legs. She didn’t continue, instead running her tongue along her bottom lip, and pressing down on Ymir’s fingers. Ymir felt the first hint of wetness spreading through the fabric, and she sucked in a deep breath.

“Holy shit,” she said.

“You want me,” Christa said. It wasn’t a question.

“I… I… yeah.”

“You’ve wanted me for a while.”

“You have no idea.”

She looked up, and saw Christa bite down, hard, on her lip. Her grip on Ymir’s hand tightened, and Ymir realized, with a loud, breathy moan, that Christa was rubbing her own hand between her legs.

“Oh my God, Christa.”

“I’ve seen you staring,” Christa murmured, her breath hitching in the back of her throat. “And I… I never really thought I’d be into girls… but then…”

She paused, letting out a high giggle.

“I had a dream about us.”

Ymir swallowed. “What kind of dream?”

“You know what kind.” Her hand locked over Ymir’s. Ymir twisted the tips of her fingers up as best as she could, brushing against the wet lace.

“Was it… was it a good dream?”

“Not as good as this is gonna be.”

She stopped, suddenly, and dropped Ymir’s hand. Both of her hands flew to the sides of Ymir’s face, and she leaned in, pressing her mouth against Ymir’s. Ymir barely had time to suck in a breath before she was kissing back, her hands roaming Christa’s body. She ran her fingers up and down Christa’s sides, laughing as little moans escaped Christa’s lips.

“You had a fucking wet dream about me,” she said, and laughed. “Oh, my God. You always act like you’re so… so innocent, this little princess, and then you’re… you’re dragging me into your fucking bedroom…”

“It… it wasn’t just one…” Christa said, and Ymir understood her, and moaned, pressing a long, slow kiss to her mouth.

“How many times?” she murmured, pulling back. “How many times have you dreamed about me fucking you?”

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “A lot. I… last night, I…”

“Last night?” Ymir raised an eyebrow. “What did I do  to you last night?”

“You… you… you were in between my legs, and…”

“Oh, my God.” Ymir surged forward, planting a trail of kisses on Christa’s bare throat, and relishing each little moan as she gently rolled the skin between her teeth. One of Christa’s hands had disappeared from the side of Ymir’s face, she realized, she glanced down to see Christa’s wrist covered by a line of lace, her slender fingers moving busily under the fabric.

“Get on the bed,” Ymir whispered, and Christa nodded wordlessly, moving away from Ymir to fall back onto the pillows. Her hand never moved, still working away under her panties. Ymir stood, lifting her hoodie up and over her head, not even pausing to grimace at the pizza sauce-stained t-shirt underneath. She tore that off, too - she hadn’t been wearing a bra underneath, because fuck getting properly dressed for 8:30 AM classes - and immediately felt her nipples harden in the cold air of Christa’s room. She glanced down and saw that Christa had picked up her pace, biting her lip as her hips bucked under her hand.

“Jesus Christ,” Ymir mumbled. She yanked down her pajama pants, pulling her boxers down along with them, and slid onto the bed, straddling Christa. Carefully, she grabbed Christa’s forearm and pulled it up, away from her panties, eliciting a frustrated moan.

“Ymir…”

“Shh…” she hummed, and grabbed Christa’s other arm. She lifted them, pinning them so they crossed, one over the other, on a plush pillow just above Christa’s head. “That’s what I’m for.”

She leaned in, still pressing one hand over Christa’s wrists, and kissed her on the mouth. Christa moaned into the kiss, running her tongue along Ymir’s bottom lip. Ymir sighed, delirious, and brought her tongue against Christa’s, drinking in the deeper moan she pulled from the back of Christa’s throat. After a few minutes, she lifted her head, swinging her face down to Christa’s neck, where the rough kisses she’d left earlier were already causing red bruises to bloom. She swirled her tongue around one, gently rubbing her teeth over the skin, and heard Christa let out a breathy sigh.

“Are you going to be good?” Ymir said, lifting her face from Christa’s neck. “Are you going to be a good girl if I let your hands free?”

“Y-yeah,” Christa stammered. “I… I’ll be good.”

“And you won’t touch yourself unless I say?”

Christa nodded, feverish, and Ymir relinquished her hands. Immediately, Christa’s fingers went to the straps of her bra, yanking them over her shoulders. Ymir slid down, curving her hands under Christa’s body to search for the clasp of her bra. She found it quickly, sliding the hooks out of their catches, and pulled down, hard. Christa’s nipples, rosy and pink, came into view, and Ymir grinned, gently rolling one between her thumb and forefinger.

“These are cute,” she said, shooting a smile up at Christa. “You’re cute. Look at you. Look at how excited you are.”

“Ymir,” Christa said - moaned, and slid a hand behind Ymir’s head. She pulled, guiding Ymir to her chest, and moaned again as Ymir’s tongue swirled around her nipple.

“You’re so… that feels so…” She trailed off in midsentence, letting out a high-pitched squeal as Ymir gently rolled her teeth over sensitive skin. Ymir pulled back, laughing.

“It feels good?”

“Mmhmm,” Christa whimpered. She lifted her hand, letting her fingers rest on Ymir’s naked chest. Ymir watched as she skated over one nipple, then the other, toying with them gently. She leaned forward, suddenly, rolling her tongue over one nipple while still flicking the other between her fingers.

“Jesus, Christa,” Ymir said, her voice shaky. “Oh my God.”

Holding herself steady over Christa, she reached down with one hand and pulled her wet panties to the side. Christa let out another loud squeal as Ymir’s forefinger skated along her slit.

“You ready?”

“I… oh, yeah.”

“Ready for me to fuck you?”

“P-please, Ymir, I… I need to come so, so badly…”

Ymir grinned, arching her back to give Christa easier access to her chest. Slowly, carefully, she slipped her finger into Christa, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop her. Christa’s mouth gaped open and her breathy moan was warm on Ymir’s skin. Ymir slid her finger in, out, steadily, working up a rhythm; after a minute or two, she reached down with her thumb, letting the pad rest gently at the very top of Christa’s slit. She pressed down, slowly, moving her thumb from side to side, only stopping when Christa let out a shrill shriek and fell back against the pillows.

“Looks like I found the right spot,” she said, and leaned forward over Christa to kiss her, slow and deep. Christa reached up, letting both hands tangle in Ymir’s hair. She lifted her legs up, wrapping them around Ymir’s waist, pulling her closer as Ymir continued rolling her thumb over Christa’s clit.

Ymir lifted her head, inhaling deeply, and slid a second finger into Christa. Christa groaned at the sensation, lifting her hips to meet Ymir’s hand, and tightening her grip on Ymir’s hair.

“Does that feel good?” Ymir whispered. Christa nodded, wordless, and turned so that her face was in profile against her pink pillow, her mouth almost covered by the fabric.

Ymir grinned, and picked up her pace. “How good does it feel?”

“You… you feel amazing,” Christa moaned, her voice all but muffled by the pillow. Ymir watched Christa’s face contort as she flicked her thumb over Christa’s clit, watched her fingers grip the bedspread tighter, watched as a red flush spread over her cheeks.

“Are you close?”

“I… mmhmm…” was all that Christa could manage. “Oh… oh, oh my God.”

Ymir slowed her pace, dragging her fingers in and out, savouring the way Christa’s hips bucked against her hand. After a few moments, Christa pushed her knees against Ymir’s sides, using her legs to pull Ymir closer.

“Ymir,” she breathed. “I… I’m gonna…”

She turned her face even further into the pillow and let out a long, high scream. Ymir pushed into Christa harder than before, feeling her spasm around her fingers. A few seconds went by, and she pulled her fingers out, sliding down Christa’s body until her nose was even with her clit. She ran her tongue tentatively along Christa’s slit, drinking in the warm, tart wetness before lifting her face to roll her tongue around Christa’s clit. Christa, limp from her orgasm, let her legs fall to the mattress and brought her hands, again, to rest behind Ymir’s head. Her fingers slid gently into Ymir’s hair, and Ymir looked up to see her smiling, softly.

“Hey,” she whispered, using her grip to lift Ymir’s head. “My turn.”


End file.
